Drinking The Pain Away
by KCUrquhart
Summary: An op went south and Clint is hoping to find peace at the bottom of a bottle. Coulson does his best to make things better.


"How're you holding up?"

Clint didn't turn around at Coulson's voice, simply taking another swig out of the half-empty vodka bottle in his hand. The clear liquid burned at his throat and he struggled to swallow it. His eyes fought to focus on the bottle's label as his fingers picked at the edge of it. Peeling it away from the glass with his nails before smoothing it back down.

"I didn't know it would go that badly." Coulson sat down next to Clint. He was on the roof of SHIELD HQ, his feet dangling over the edge. He was so far past caring that he was hundreds of feet in the air and only inches from falling to oblivion. Or that with this amount of alcohol in his system, the odds of falling were a lot more likely. "It was supposed to be an easy in-and-out job. We weren't expecting the children. You shouldn't have had to deal with that. I'm sorry."

Clint huffed at Coulson's words. They were far too weak to make today better. Clint had been sent to a warehouse to help clear out a cell of workers that were doing research for Kingpin. No one had told him that half of the workers were under the age of twelve. Seeing the small and innocent faces, Clint had hesitated. With good reason, so he thought. His opinion had changed when the first child drew a gun and started firing at him and the other SHIELD agents with him. Thirty five dead in total. Thirty of them under the age of ten.

Clint took another swig out of the bottle, coughing slightly against the sting at his throat. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. The motion was as much to steady him and give him something solid and real to focus on as to clear the drops of liquid from his lips. His hand paused there. Clint could feel his pulse through the thin layers of skin. He closed his eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath as he remembered the sprays of red that had shot from tiny bodies as they fell to the ground.

"It wasn't your fault."

Clint spun on Coulson, suddenly furious. "You're damn right it isn't my fault!" He saw Coulson flinch ever so slightly as spit flew from Clint's mouth. "You assholes sent me in there with faulty information. This is completely your fault. All those children are dead because of you." He jabbed a finger into Coulson's chest. When the man didn't move away he pushed at him with his whole hand. The force barely caused him to move and soon, without realizing what he was doing, Clint found himself throwing Coulson backwards across the gravel roof.

He jumped on top of him, throwing a punch into his chest. "I trusted you! You promised me I could make things right." Clint was half-sobbing as he continued to beat his hands against Coulson's solid chest fruitlessly. "This isn't what I agreed to. You lied to me. How could you? You bastard." Clint broke off with a strangled gasp and rolled off of Coulson, curling himself up into a tight ball. Like that might help keep off the waves of guilt that kept beating against his heart.

He felt Coulson's hand tentatively drop onto his shoulder. As much as he wanted to move away from it, he couldn't help himself from pressing into the contact. He turned and found himself wrapped into Coulson's waiting arms. And finally here was something that did something to make Clint feel a little less like a monster. He continued crying, clinging to Coulson's suit lapels as the man stroked a gentle hand through Clint's hair.

When Clint had finally been reduced to the occasional sniffle, Coulson finally spoke. "Never again. I promise. Never again." Soft lips pressed to Clint's forehead. "I'm so sorry. I wish I could take it all back. But I swear to you, whoever is responsible for this will pay. And I will die before putting you in a situation like that again, understand." Coulson tipped Clint's head up, holding it there until Clint finally met his eyes.

The moment Clint saw those pale blue eyes he felt a lead weight drop into his stomach. It was both nerve-wrenching and steadying. A heavy and reassuring presence that he hadn't realized he was craving until he felt it. Coulson's eyes were haunted by the same guilt and heartbreak that Clint knew was shadowing his own. It reminded him of why he had decided to trust this man in the first place. As much as he tried to hide himself from the rest of the world, Coulson had never made Clint feel like he was doing something wrong or shameful. Coulson had been the first and only person in Clint's life that had made him feel worthy of actually feeling emotions. He knew Coulson would never have sent Clint into that warehouse today if he had known. Coulson never did anything to hurt Clint.

Coulson stroked a thumb across Clint's cheek. Clint closed his eyes, relishing in the feel of the rough skin across his stubble. "Now," Coulson's voice had a sickly-sweet tone that made Clint's eyes snap open curiously. "Where'd you put that bottle? Cause I could sure use a drink." Clint laughed as he rolled across the roof, ignoring the gravel that bit into his exposed arms, and grabbed the bottle of vodka from where it'd fallen. He threw it to Coulson who caught it easily. Coulson lifted it up in a mock toast. "Here's to forgetting the bad days."

They finished the bottle together, watching the sun set and talking about nothing in particular.


End file.
